"Perhaps he made it out of Margate," Iago remarks, "at long last. Or perhaps is just avoiding everyone but that dog of his."
Iago chooses to stop pressing him at this point, but really, that soft flush of red makes him even more appealing than usual.
He grimaces sympathetically. "I had the immense advantage of Xellos's art to care for the last of the half-healed wounds, else I might be less hale now. Aye, of course." He pours again for Cesare, pours again for himself.
This is the part where I apologize for Iago being a bad person. Again.